


Peacemaker

by chasu



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Closeted Character, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Older Characters, Slow Build, Small Towns, mentions of disordered eating, neurodivergent character, the brotp strikes again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5102222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasu/pseuds/chasu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Alright,” she agreed. “I’m in.”</p><p>“You’re in?”</p><p>She nodded, and took a few steady steps towards him. “I’m in. I will help you with your family predicament, with full discretion, in exchange for macaroni and cheese, concert tickets, and some of your mother’s cooking. Is that our agreement?” </p><p>(au prompt from <a href="http://caprxgers.tumblr.com/post/124356820718/some-oddly-specific-aus-that-no-one-asked-for">this post</a>).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. open-and-shut

   When Naoto moved to Inaba, it was a single-handed endeavour.

   The day came during the twist of winter into spring, the last of the frost dissipated but the sunlight still hesitant, glowing but not warm where it fell. Her fingers raw on the steering wheel of the rented van, her coat and her tight trousers restricting her movements as she crawled down from the cab and had to stand on the tips of her toes to wrench the double doors open at the back, wincing when the metal clattered loudly enough to attract stares.

   Naoto tried to school her expression into something neither friendly nor unfriendly; the look of going about her business, as though there was nothing at all unusual about someone so small and so young handling all of these things on her own.

   Grampa, of course, was far too frail in his old age to help with the heavy lifting, and though she tried not to dwell on it often, at times like these it was undeniable that she had no-one else to call. She packed her boxes light and numerous, each carefully weighed beforehand and matched to her own ability, so that she would be able to lift them from the van, into her new building, and even up the stairs without any need for assistance.

   She did it all in one session. The bottom floor was sparse and brightly-lit, the remnants of the barbershop that had once been here thoroughly cleared out during her previous visits. It still had to be re-painted and furnished, with a sitting area for consultations and a private office in the back room. The upstairs was in better shape, the kitchen and bathroom fixtures relatively new and everything else bare, a clean slate, just waiting for the personalization of her coffee-maker and laptop, her own clothes in the wardrobe.

   When the boxes were stacked in the rooms their contents were destined for, she locked the front door firmly behind her and headed upstairs. They creaked. She got the impression that in this town, everything did.

   She had already accumulated a pile of unopened letters, all dump beforehand on a large box that was masquerading as a dining table; some junk, some meant for the previous tenant, a flyer for Souzai Daigaku, takeout menu from Aiya.

   She kept that one in hand and hauled herself up onto the kitchen counter, lightly kicking her heels against the cupboard door underneath.

 

~*~

 

   Someone knocked on her back door early the next afternoon. Naoto had been painting, her hair pushed back with a headband and her outfit consisting of her oldest pyjama trousers and a shirt that was already spoiled by a spaghetti stain. Her hands were crusted in a thorough layer of silver-grey paint, flecked all over her clothes and even smeared on her cheek; not the kind of state she wanted to answer the door in, but this was the  _new_ Naoto, the Inaba Naoto, and the Inaba Naoto wouldn’t stress about something like that.  

   So she placed the roller back into the tray, hopping down from her stepladder, and another knock came.

   Hastily, she wiped her hands off on her shirt and left the hairband on top of an unpacked box, shaking her hair out before she headed downstairs and opened the door, blinking against the harsh light of day.

   A moment later, a shadow fell across her, and she blinked at the source of it instead.

   She found broad shoulders, a striped scarf well above her eye-line; the man at her door looked to be around her age, completely unsmiling and looking like he wanted to shove his hands into his pockets and slink off, but he couldn’t because–

   A clingfilm-wrapped dish was thrust into her hands, and he said, “Hey, uh. My mom said to give you this.”

   "Oh,“ was all Naoto could think of. She had been expecting the neighbours to come calling eventually, (it was a small town, after all). But not so soon, and certainly not with food.

   When she’d moved into her previous apartment, the only welcome she’d gotten then was a noise complaint for the racket she’d made dragging her suitcase up the stairs, and an unintentional private serenade when the man across the hall decided to play his piano at four o'clock that morning.

   The dish was still warm. It left her at a loss for what to say.

   The task of making conversation fell to her visitor. "We live next door. The textile shop?” With his hands finally free, the man rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing towards the aforementioned shop that lay just across the narrow alley. “She woulda showed up herself, but we’re waiting on a big delivery she has to sign for. So, welcome to Inaba,” he said, in a way that sounded entirely rehearsed, “and, uh, enjoy the potatoes.”

   "This is very kind,“ Naoto said, sincerely, but by the time she had managed to collect herself enough to speak, the man – her neighbour – was already halfway down the path and not looking back.

 

 ~*~

 

   "Please allow me to get my facts in order.” Naoto stared down at the writing in her notebook, just a few scant lines that seemed, to put it lightly, incredibly off. “You noticed your car was missing at approximately eight-thirty AM on April 24th, but did not immediately report it to the police because…”

   The client – (a middle aged man Naoto already hoped she would never see again as long as she lived here) – rolled his eyes. “Because I thought my wife could’ve taken it!”

   It was too early for this. For  _any_  of this. Naoto had already made the dire mistake of opening her shutters before her morning ritual of strong coffee and a handful of dry granola, and now she was being snapped at on an empty stomach, the throb of caffeine absent from her veins, all because this man had decided to stop by first thing with some printed-out pictures of a wholly unremarkable black Nissan.  

   "I see.“ Naoto nodded, tapping her pen against where she had transcribed that statement a few minutes earlier. "But when your wife returned home, you still chose not to report your car as stolen to the police?”

   "That’s right.“

   ”…So there has been no report made to the police at all?“

   "Isn’t that what I just told you?” the client retorted, and Naoto had to bite back a comment about how stating it multiple times didn’t make his decision any more understandable, but that was a losing battle she wasn’t even going to attempt to fight.

   She peered up at him warily from beneath the brim of her hat. “So what you’re saying is that you just… bypassed the police, and came straight to me?”

   The client huffed, as though it was stupid of her to expect him to do anything else. “Of course I did.”

   Momentarily, Naoto closed her eyes and wondered how he would react if she excused herself upstairs to get reacquainted with her coffee-maker now, in the middle of this appointment. Her patience was always thin when it came to people who acted like she was wasting their time, and yet they were the ones who had regular sleeping schedules, who could just switch work mode off at five o'clock and have a life outside of cases, interviews, files, folders,  _coffee_ …

   She supposed she would be just as fussy, if it were her car.

   But then again, if it were her car, she would have  _filed a police report_ like a reasonable person. 

   She wanted nothing more than to put her head in her hands, to rub at her temples to ward off the impending headache, but she was a professional. 

   "I’m afraid I just don’t understand–“

   "I  _know_  who stole it,” the client interrupted her, and Naoto relaxed back in her seat some, swiftly readying her pen for the explosive story that was sure to follow. One usually did, after a line like that, whether the client was talking about murder or robbery or adultery. Once they got started, it could be hard to take down all the gory details. “If the police wanted to go after him, he’d be in jail by now and I wouldn’t have to report my car being stolen in the first place. But they just let him walk free!” –  _suspect male, criminal history, no intervention by law enforcement??_  – “He’s  _always_ been one of the troublemakers around here, you know.”

   Naoto added  _juvenile offences_ and  _possibly more troublemakers(?)_  to the list, and then drew a circle around the entirety of it. “So,” she concluded, “you would like me to find evidence that this person stole your car.”

   The client hummed his affirmation, and Naoto felt lighter already, knowing that this would be open-and-shut, especially if…

   "Do you know his name?“ she asked, trying very hard not to get her hopes up.

   "Kanji Tatsumi.”  _Tatsumi_. Her head snapped up in disbelief, but the client didn’t seem to notice. “He’s in a gang,” he added, matter-of-factly.

   Tatsumi. She saw the name every day, and considering that she had only ever seen one man entering or leaving the Tatsumi residence, then that would mean that she had already met the suspect. 

   With her guard down.

   And paint on her face.

   "A gang?“ Naoto hadn’t quite registered that part until she wrote it down.  _In Inaba?_ she wanted to ask, her voice dripping with every bit of incredulity she could muster, but instead she opted for an unaffected, "Which gang?”

   "I don’t know. A biker gang?“ The client shrugged. "You can ask him when you arrest him.”

   "I will do that,“ Naoto replied absently. She jotted down the rest of the information, then closed her notebook and tucked it into her shirt pocket to address the client directly as she stood up. "In the mean time, I must insist that you report your car as stolen to the police. A copy of this report will contain everything I need to know about the vehicle. It is also worth nothing that if the car is found with evidence inside, this is the only way we can be sure that it will be kept in a good enough condition to be analysed.” 

   "Fine.” The client got to his feet as well, and held out his hand to shake. Naoto offered her own in turn. “Thank you, detective.”

   He didn’t exactly sound like he meant it, but Naoto would take what she could get. 

   "I’ll make another appointment for you soon, to share my findings,“ she told him, and forced her best cordial expression while the client attempted to dislocate her shoulder in parting. 


	2. deep cover

   Naoto kept notes, journals, spreadsheets on her rickety old computer that had reached such length that they took minutes to load and froze all of the other running programs while they did so. Every unfamiliar number plate was taken down on post-it notes and transferred to the database. Every menu change at Souzai Daigaku recorded in a thick leather-bound notebook, pages weighed down unevenly with ink, in amongst the details of her day; her cases; her conversations with neighbours; the rumours that swirled through the shopping district and all their short-lived consequences.

   She started a new notebook with Kanji Tatsumi’s name on it.

   At night, she would settle herself on the window-seat and simply observe. It was the treasure of her apartment, that little nook with a storage space beneath and a cushioned top, the windowsill a perfect home for her steaming mug of decaffeinated coffee. The trip to Junes for throw pillows and a blanket had been embarrassing, but the support of her back and the warmth draped across her legs had been worth it; Naoto could sit there for hours in perfect comfort, content to watch the dim street outside, never expecting anything to happen and finding catharsis in the fact that, the vast majority of the time, it never did.

   It was a habit she’d always had, but now, the case gave her something to look for.

   She didn’t have to tail Kanji at all; not when he lived right next door, and the view from Naoto’s kitchen window provided an excellent vantage point that covered the side alley as well as the Tatsumi’s back garden. When Naoto made her breakfast-coffee, Kanji would be outside watering the flowers by the path and in the window-boxes; when the incessant roar of the delivery truck distracted her from paperwork, it was Kanji who was helping to unloading it, making loud conversation with the driver as he did so.

   The window seat, by contrast, showed their path to the outside world. While she sat there, there was nowhere he could go without her knowing about it.

   Her own business had flexible hours. Naoto could close her doors at 3PM and work past midnight, or take frantic phone calls at dinnertime and take trips across the town soon after, not arriving home until the streetlights were off to welcome the morning. 

   This meant that she could lock up early and retreat upstairs to watch the shutters close on the other buildings. Soothing in their consistency, the events lining up perfectly with the times listed on the front doors. And it was _nice_  to have some consistency in her life. It was why she had moved to Inaba in the first place, the little town that moved like clockwork.

   The textile shop next door was always the first to close, though she heard rather than saw the rattle of aluminium, the call of the elderly owner to her son to be careful not to break the shutter /again/, and then the clink-clink of her opening the back door and heading back inside for the night.

   Then it was Marukyu Tofu, after handling the after-school rush of housewives who came by with their children for the night’s ingredients, another elderly owner who likely needed her leisure time and would have benefited from a part-time helper and, Naoto mused, probably envied the Tatsumi family for having an able son who seemed to work just as hard as his mother did. 

   Souzai Daigaku optimistically stayed open past seven, the owner perhaps eating some of her own steak for dinner behind the counter. Aiya welcomed customers until eleven o'clock, though after eight Naoto knew that the patrons were mostly looking to drink rather than eat; the liquor store up the street stayed open until well after Naoto went to bed, most nights.

   It was a soothing ritual because nothing ever changed. The children came in a rush at four and cleared out to their part-time jobs or headed home for dinner by five-thirty. Local reporters dropped by to use the street as an aesthetically-pleasing backdrop for their stories while the evening news ran. Younger people passed through, dressed up to the nines to catch the train to Okina for nights out on Saturdays; Naoto regonised Saki Konishi in her little black dress, Rise Kujikawa, making what she’d heard was a somewhat rare appearance in town, and Kanji Tatsumi, always departing alone.

   She noted all of this down.

   Almost the entire police department filed into Aiya on Friday nights, sometimes knocking on Naoto’s door to invite her along if she had assisted them with whatever case they were celebrating; she declined, preferring to sit at her window and watch them file out again at closing, most of them stumbling, Aiya himself waving them out from the door because they were always the last to leave.

   Things became quiet after that.

   The same two alcoholics visited Konishi at eleven-fifteen and twelve am respectively, shuffling away from streetlights and glancing back over their shoulders, no doubt wondering what the neighbours would think.  

   The same stray cats ransacked the garbage cans behind Shiroku, dragging half-finished meals into back alleys, leaving the woman confounded every morning as to the source of the mess.

   When Mrs. Tatsumi departed on a trip to visit ailing relatives in another town, Kanji Tatsumi would appear and disappear at night, coming home from the vague direction of the train station with a male companion at an hour where nobody except Naoto was sure to be watching, looking markedly paranoid as they approached the textile store and fell out of Naoto’s view. 

   If she was staying up late, too preoccupied with a case to sleep, she would sometimes see these men leave again several hours later, looking slightly rumpled, slightly lost in a town they didn’t recognise.

   Something about it seemed off. Naoto tap-tap-tapped her pen against the paper, her forehead against the cold glass, so deep in thought she could barely feel the chill. 

   It was true that a family business was an excellent cover-up for a crime ring of some description, with the potential for money laundering and the frequency of delivery trucks that nobody would bat an eyelash over. It was also true that the presence of strangers in the home, and this strange behaviour… he could be selling them something, but who would come from the city to Inaba for drugs?

   And if it  _was_ drugs, why would he steal cars? Crime could be a slippery slope indeed, but considering Naoto had never seen a vehicle of the same model outside of Tatsumi Textiles or, indeed, any car at all…

   And the way he  _collected_  them, went away and came back with them in tow, rather than them coming to him as a buyer or a friend would, it was almost like…

   Naoto winced. It wasn’t  _almost_  like anything– it was  _exactly_ like Kanji’s activities were far from criminal, and this was absolutely none of her business.

   And now, all she had to do was prove it.

 

~*~

  
   He called her ‘Shirogane’. Just 'Shirogane’, no honourific, no first name, and Naoto might have considered it rude if it wasn’t delivered only in moments of politeness.

   "Mornin’, Shirogane,“ when they happened to be opening up at exactly the same time, Naoto revealing the printed  _Shirogane Detective Agency_  across her front window, Kanji dragging out tables and samples into the street, a choice stock of knitted dolls to catch the eyes of children on their way to school.  

   "Need some help with that, Shirogane?” when she was dragging her suitcase up the back path after a consultation in Okina, and he watched her from the other side of the fence, one hand shielding his eyes from the pale sun, concern on his face.  

   "No,“ she’d say, and then add, "Thank you,” and he nodded, never pushed the matter.

   He had a routine, which made Naoto’s life so much easier.

   "Good morning, Tatsumi-san,“ she said, somewhat too loudly. Immediately he straightened up, almost dropping his bright-orange watering can, head whipping around to find her watching him from the other side of the low wooden fence. Naoto cleared her throat, placed her gloved hands each on a slat, and squeezed. "Your… your garden looks beautiful in the spring.”

   They all had two strips of greenery up against the building, one on either side of the back step. Naoto’s overgrown and weed-ridden; Kanji’s neat, trimmed bushes and a spattering of terracotta pots with blossoming flowers. Making the best of what little space he had. Maybe when she wasn’t in the middle of an investigation, she could ask him for tips.

   "Uh– thanks, Shirogane.“ He raised a hand to cup the back of his neck, dragging the palm down to his collarbone, bashful. "It’s nothin’, really. Ma mostly just tells me what to do.”

   The statement didn’t leave much room to continue the conversation. Kanji must have realised it as well, because he suddenly looked uncomfortable just as Naoto began to feel the awkwardness creeping up on her, wrapping around like the prickly green tendrils of one of Kanji’s plants.

   "Ah… So, how’s business?“ she attempted. The cheerful note in her voice was so propped up with starch that he must have noticed. Naoto was more than aware that there was nothing in her demeanour that screamed _friendly neighbour,_  that rumours would fly about her dullness as much as any colourful character around.

   Like Kanji, with his bleached hair and his tattoo, dressed dark on days like this when even Naoto could swap her coat for a blouse, even when he was watering flowers, a dirt-crusted trowel and the leaking nozzle of a garden hose at his feet. Sunday morning, his hair uncombed, the hint of a bruise, deep burgundy, peeking above the neckline of his tank top.

   There was certainly something about him.

   "We get by,” he said, and shrugged, glancing back towards the building as though to prove that it was still standing, not yet swallowed up by the state of disrepair that oozed out from the department store, affecting all in its wake.

   Naoto tried not to look too serious when she said, “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person on this street who isn’t affected by Junes.”

   It brought a laugh from Kanji. “Yeah, they never shut up about it, do they?” he mused, gesturing with a thumb towards the street just visible beyond the side alley between their homes. “Must sound pretty weird, to an out-of-towner.”

   "Do you really consider me to be an out-of-towner?“ Naoto tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes to see him better without the brim of her hat to shield them from the sun. "I’ve lived here for several weeks now.”

   Kanji set down his watering can and approached the fence, resting his hands on either side of Naoto’s, though much farther apart, putting his weight on them - enough weight that the fence sunk at least an inch further into the ground, but Kanji didn’t notice, still looking towards the street as though admiring what he had been mocking just moments before. “I didn’t leave this place at all 'til I was sixteen,” he said, with a smile so small it was barely there. “Trust me. You’re as much of a city boy as any of 'em.”

   "I see,“ Naoto said, refocusing her gaze to her hands. “Well– speaking of leaving this place,” she continued, “I was wondering if I could ask you a favour.”

   The fence squeaked as Kanji took his weight off it, edged backwards and picked up his watering can again. “Depends what you need, I guess.” The soil beneath the plants grew dark as Naoto watched; this was quite the neighbourly conversation. 

   "I have an appointment in fifteen minutes,“ Naoto explained, the slight untruth making her clench her fingers harder around the top of the fence. "It’s not far, but I was drinking last night,” and she watched his face carefully as she said that, looking for a sign that that was hard to believe, but he looked as impassive as ever, “and I… I don’t think it’s entirely out of my system. Would you mind giving me a ride?”

   He stared at her for several long, blank seconds. “I would, Shirogane, but I don’t have a car.”

   "Oh,“ and Naoto nodded along because yes, she knew that, she had already been prepared to look foolish, (the Inaba Naoto didn’t care as much about looking foolish), "well, we can use my car, then.”

   "I don’t have a license either,“ Kanji replied, bemused. "People without cars usually don’t.”

   "Right. Of course.“ Naoto wished she could write that one down – it would certainly be difficult for Kanji to steal a car he couldn’t drive, and that was exactly the answer she was hoping to find. "I’ll just walk, then. It’s a nice enough day for it.” She took a step back from the fence, and Kanji nodded once and then turned around to go back to his gardening once again, exposing the bruise on his neck that was  _not_  a bruise, and the secondhand embarrassment hit Naoto like a ton of bricks. “Wait– Tatsumi-san?”

   "Yeah?“

   She could feel the blush rising to her cheeks already, but refused to let it seep into her voice. Instead, she put on her briskest, most businesslike tone. "You seem to have a lovebite, over your left trapezius muscle, approximately four inches from your shoulder. Here,” she clarified at his blank look, tapping the spot on her own body; very high on her back, just between her shoulder and her neck, and unlikely to be visible in a mirror unless one was purposefully looking for it.  

   "Shit.“ He paled. "Do I really?" 

   She nodded. "You do.”

   Kanji dropped the watering can with a clatter, soaking his shoes and the path beneath them. “Aha… Well, good thing about runnin’ a textile store is that it means ya’ always have, like, fifty scarves around.” He faked a laugh, almost as bad at doing so as Naoto was herself. “Ya’ really um, y’know– I mean…” he seemed to struggle for a moment, “–this ain’t really the kinda thing ya’ want your mom to see, right? So thanks a lot, Shirogane, uh…”

   "I’ll see you later,“ she said, and was not at all surprised when he looked grateful to be dismissed, hurrying back towards the house with a hand clapped over the offending mark; he left the door open, and she could hear him thunder up the stairs a moment later, his little mantra of  _shitshitshitshit_  pounding along with his footfalls.


	3. field agent

   The summer heat crept up early, kindled to a blaze, leaving discarded clothes and open windows in it's wake. Inaba took the weather badly, Naoto thought; she worked in tank tops and lost focus every other minute, switching her coffee for iced tea and constantly daydreaming about the flow of the Samegawa and how easy it would be to take a walk down there and submerge herself in the cool, clear water for hours. Walk home with dripping hair and a smile on her face. She wasn't a child anymore -- didn't even do those things when she _was_  a child -- but the temptation was so great, she was so stir-crazy, May was making her lose her mind...

   She took two cold showers a day. She left the windows open. Everyone did.

   She could hear the Tatsumis at dinner time. The clatter of their oven while Naoto wasn't even cooking, just standing there with a cupboard open and her stomach growling, torn between instant noodles and tinned soup. She wandered around the little kitchenette, leaning against counters, praying for an emergency call that would take her out of town and give her an excuse to go to a drive-thru or something. It wasn't fair, the way the days blurred and food evaporated from her cupboards until it had been two weeks since her last trip to Junes and she was having dry cereal for dinner for the fifth day in a row, eating over the sink, her dining table swallowed up by papers and case files again.

   Outside, the crying of cicadas. The whirr of bicycle wheels on the road. A snippet of conversation. "Did you meet her yet?"

   At first Naoto wondered if she was imagining it, blinking the sweat out of her eyes, but it was Mrs. Tatsumi's voice, clear as day. Carried through two windows, across the narrow alley.

   "Meet who, Ma?"

   Kanji sounded mildly annoyed. Or no, not annoyed -- tired? Yes, tired, that was something Naoto knew well as both an emotion and a physical state.

   He sounded, she thought, like he had had this conversation before.

   "That sweet girl next door!" Naoto felt herself blush as Mrs. Tatsumi sighed. "Honestly, it's like you live in a bubble sometimes, Kanji, dear..."

   Now he just sounded irritated. " _What_  girl next door?"

   "The detective! I _did_  ask you to take that dish to her, and _please_ don't tell me you forgot--?"

   "The--?" A smash, a broken plate on tile, and an immediate stream of apologies. "Sorry, Ma, I was just surprised, I-- uh, yeah, I met her."

   The rest of the conversation faded into obscurity when Naoto switched the kettle on to boil, the bubbling water drowning out most of the outside noises coming from that particular window. She crossed the room to the cupboard and took a worn packet into each hand, weighing her options. Chicken, or beef? Did it matter, when they tasted almost exactly the same?

   Naoto tore open the chicken-flavoured packet and emptied the dried noodles into the cup, a powdery mess, and tried not to feel bitter as the smell from next door's kitchen wafted over, sticking in the heavy, humid air.

  
~*~

  
   The sound of ripping fabric was unmistakeable, and Naoto couldn't even be annoyed about that. She only felt conflicted, as to whether to up this client's fee, or pack her things, go home, give a refund, and drop the case altogether.

   The last time she'd been creeping around a place like this, the wash of a river to one side and the tangled growth catching her ankles every other minute, there had been a corpse at the end of it and a beleaguered squad of officers on the other end of her radio. 

   All the walk down here, it had been hard to remember that this was different. She'd been informed of a feral cat colony, been asked to look into it by a concerned housewife who's children had apparently spotted the felines nearby, and she'd come to the conclusion of  _feral_ , which meant _rabies_ , which meant calling a private detective instead of an animal shelter, because the one in town had closed just a few months prior due to a lack of funding and Naoto was the next best thing.

   She'd taken the case because it seemed simple. Confirm or deny. Inaba's low crime rate was part of the appeal of moving here -- she had already anticipated being asked to handle odd jobs, from time to time, if she wanted to make a living.

   What the client _hadn't_  told her was that this colony was living by the river, off the path where the foliage had overgrown and left a marshy, tangled half-forest that she hadn't been quite prepared for. Even the Wellington boots and raincoat didn't prepare her for the lashings of wet that fell down on her every time she moved the wrong way and jostled the plants, disturbing the canopy, and what self-respecting cat would live _here_ , anyway? It was harsh, damp, the nearby river was dangerous for kittens wandering astray, and surely no feral would be so reckless or have such low standards. Not that Naoto was the expert on animals, but she could at least give them _some_ credit.

   Though then again, if they wanted to avoid humans, this would be the place to go. Ten minutes in and Naoto was already wishing she had simply stayed home with a mug of hot soup and a case that was actually worth solving.

   At least she'd avoided the rain, though it was still muggy, so humid she could almost feel the remains of it sticking to her.

   And then, while she was knee-deep in a leafy monster of a fern and contorted, bent over, with the prickly bark of a tree branch scraping against the back of her neck, her phone rang.

   If only she had chosen a different profession, one where she could stick her nose into foliage as much as she wanted in peace, where ignoring her phone couldn't possibly mean that she was needed because someone's life was in danger, or had already ended...

   (No matter how much she tried to remind herself that this was Inaba, that things had changed, some habits couldn't be shaken.)

   Blindly and still frozen in position, she reached back and removed her phone from her pocket, and then raised it to her ear.

   "Hello?" the voice came immediately, and Naoto winced. It was her favourite client.

   "I--" Naoto hesitated while she cast about for an excuse. _Think_ \-- "I'm in the field at the moment," and this time she didn't wince, because it was technically true, "so I'm afraid I have to--"

   "Look, I'm in a bit of a hurry right now and I just have to reschedule my appointment."

    _Do you?_ Naoto thought bitterly, because she could only be so professional when her back was starting to hurt and she was ninety-percent sure she could feel some kind of beetle touching her other hand, the one that was still clinging to a tree-trunk, keeping her upright. But then, like a lightbulb going off above her head, she realised:

   "I don't believe that appointment will be entirely necessary," she told him. She kept her voice as flat as she could while simultaneously trying to extricate herself from the bushes, taking small steps backwards, staying hunched over but still feeling a twinge of pain, the branch against her neck not willing to let her go that easily. "This case has been a simple one. Kanji Tatsumi had nothing to do with the disappearance of your car."

   Just as Naoto had predicted, the line went dead silent for several long seconds. She hoped he couldn't hear her footsteps squelch as she stumbled backwards, through the mud and into a clearing, free at last from the green snares.

   "How could you _possibly_ ," he asked her, slowly, "have come to that conclusion?"

   Naoto sighed, brushing a few stray leaves off the (soaked, torn) legs of her trousers. "I thoroughly investigated the matter, and I'm confident that he is innocent."

   "Well, how do you know that?"

   Apparently, he was losing patience with her already. That was only to be expected, when he had jumped to a wild conclusion and she was no longer willing to play along with it -- this wasn't her first case along these lines, and it wouldn't be the last.

   She looked to the sky as she spoke. Grey, clouded, threatening rain again, and to think she had disliked the sun while it had been visiting. She took a deep breath.

   "Of course, it's true that it is far more difficult to prove innocence than guilt." For a moment, the client seemed satisfied by that statement, but then she continued. "However, I _can_ prove that Kanji Tatsumi does not have a driver's license."

   She paused, partially for dramatic effect. It was undeniable that she enjoyed the reveal; it was a lot less exciting while she was in the middle of nowhere, on the phone and with an audience of only one, rather than pointing fingers in a crime scene with several officers behind her as back-up, but it was still, essentially, the same. The suspense and the bated breaths, and she held all of the knowledge and all of the control.

   "In fact," she said, "both of the driving instructors working in this town have confirmed that they did not provide lessons to, or test, Kanji Tatsumi. Based on this evidence, it would have been impossible for him to have committed the crime in question. It appears he does not even know how to drive at all."

   While she waited for the client to process that information, she kept looking around. Everything green, everything waterlogged except...

   Except  _that_. A hollow space beneath a bush, just within her view, where the ground looked dry, a patch amongst the damp. She crouched down, trying to ignore the thorns and twigs that grabbed at her from all sides as she did, and traced her fingers over the soil. Warm. As though there had been something resting there a moment ago that she had missed, something alive. Scampering off at the sound of her approach, or her phone, or her voice.

   "So how am I supposed to..." the client struggled, and Naoto raised the shoulder that she had balanced her phone on, tilting her head and pressing it closer to her ear as she continued to search around, lifting branches and pushing leaves aside. "What about my _car_?"

   "It's a police matter." Naoto's voice came harder than she'd intended. Her thighs were starting to ache from the position, and something was dripping on her from above, right onto her nose. Maybe it was time to contact her grandfather about making a sizeable donation to whoever used to run the animal shelter. "I'm sure someone explained this to you when you filed the report, but the procedure with stolen cars is--"

   "Yeah, okay," the client interrupted. "You know what? Thanks."

   The line went dead. Naoto stared at the 'call ended' screen for several seconds, until the residual rainwater dripping onto her phone distorted it.

   She shouldn't have been surprised, not really, but the lack of manners had always gotten under her skin. She took another crouched, difficult step forwards, deeper into the greenery. And weren't people from small towns supposed to be _nicer_?

   A twig snapped under her feet, and she froze, letting the silence fall heavy around her.

   It was then that she heard the meow.

 

~*~

  
   Naoto trekked home dripping, and the rain came on again as she reached the bus stop at the south end of the shopping district. It fell in sheets, drenching her throughout the short distance because of course, she had forgotten an umbrella, and people watched her through the windows of Chinese Diner Aiya as she trudged miserably by, her fringe flattened down on her forehead and hopefully making her less recognisable.

   At home, she kicked off her muddied shoes at the back door, (her socks were already so wet, stepping in the puddle on her top step felt like nothing). Before she stepped inside, she cast a slightly envious glance towards the flat next door, the store-front below shuttered and the warm yellow lights on in the upstairs windows. If the layout was the same all along the street - and Naoto suspected that it was - then those windows belonged to the kitchen and one of the bedrooms. Just the picture of a comfortable Sunday afternoon.

   Naoto was tempted to leave her filthy coat outside as well, but she opted instead to drip all over the entryway while she removed it and hung it up, pushing the mat underneath to stop the puddle growing too much on the floorboards. She removed her socks, as well, and then, because there was little reason not to, the rest of her clothes, positioning them to hang over the banister as she headed upstairs for a very long, very hot shower.

   Afterwards, she composed a quick email to the client whose case was now solved, (or at least, Naoto's share of it was), dried her hair, and sat down to play a few games of solitaire on the computer while she waited her phone call.

   It was weekly thing, so rigid that she'd taken to adding it to her routine. Almost without fail, someone from some police department would call her on a Sunday evening, asking for her assistance during the only time off she allowed herself, because a local murder or robbery or other such curious incidence was just _that_  important.

   Naoto guessed that they assumed, correctly, that she didn't have much of a life. She, in turn, assumed that neither did they.

   The phone rang while she was picking the olives out of her last sachet of instant pasta from an otherwise empty cupboard. At least, the ingredient list  _claimed_  they were olives, though Naoto couldn't see how those shrivelled-up black crumbs had ever been or even resembled an actual vegetable. Just thinking about it was enough to put her off altogether. In a way, she was glad for the distraction.

   Unknown number. She narrowed her eyes at it for a moment, and then took the call with her usual, curt greeting.

   "Hey, Shirogane." She startled, almost sending the cup flying. The distinctly awkward tone, Naoto was used to, but the voice, and the way it addressed her...

   Instinctively, she glanced up at the window across the alley. The curtains were drawn, the light switched off behind them. Mrs Tatsumi had returned from her trip, should have been making dinner around this time, but clearly wasn't home. 

   "Tatsumi-san?"

   For a brief moment, she was gripped with panic. That case file was still lying out in the consulting room, right on the coffee table, full of pages with totally _inappropriate_  personal information that she was _absolutely_  going to shred as soon as possible now that the case was dealt with -- but then she calmed slightly when she remembered it was just a phone call, and unless he was about to declare that he was at the door and wanted to come in, she had nothing to worry about at all.

   "Yeah," he said, as she went back to picking at the instant meal, a bad feeling already forming in her gut. "I need ta' make an appointment."


	4. safehouse

 

 "Tatsumi-san." Naoto stood, bolt-upright and formal, a black notebook clutched in the hands crossed over her chest. With one, she let go and gestured towards one of the sofas. New, sleek black leather, placed parallel to each other on either side of a rectangular glass coffee table. "Please, take a seat."

   It was a surprise, to have Kanji on her appointment list. The phone call had been so brief and so devoid of any emotion but easily detectable nerves, consisting only of a request for an appointment around dinnertime, which Naoto knew to be a strategy, though perhaps an unconscious one. People who were preparing or eating dinner would not see him enter her building; therefore, they would not ask questions or start rumours.

   For a moment, Naoto wondered why _all_ her clients didn't try to book for this time of day. It was quiet outside, devoid of disruption for the easily-startled, and the setting sun gave her consulting room an ethereal sort of orange glow, as though the sunlight was coming from somewhere within it instead.

   After a cursory glance to the floor-to-ceiling window, Kanji sat. He looked altogether too large for the space; he kept his knees wide apart, the soles of his combat boots firmly on the ground, and leaned back; but Naoto still noted the way he drummed his fingers against the armrest, focused on the window instead of her, the backwards print of _Shirogane Detective Agency_ barely visible through the closed slats of the blinds.

   As far as Naoto could tell, he didn't have any lovebites today.

   Regardless, it didn't seem like he wanted to be there.

   Silence lingered for a second. Outside, someone was rolling down their shutters; from another direction, a dog barked.

   Naoto had figured out long ago that she didn't have much of a talent for soothing clients' anxiety, so it was best to get straight to the point. She sat down across from him, opened her notebook to a blank page and asked, "How can I help you?"

   "Is this confidential?"

   The abruptness of the question threw her, and she raised her eyebrows slightly; Kanji was watching at her now, dead in the eye. "Of course. Unless I am led to believe that your own or another party's life is in danger, nothing that is said between us will leave this room."

   "'Kay. Alright." Kanji scratched at the back of his neck, averting his eyes once again. "Well, I got a problem."

   Naoto nodded for him to continue. "I am here to help."

   "I have this... situation," Kanji explained, slowly. "My grandparents are visiting this weekend, and I kinda lied to them about somethin'." A moment of hesitation. "I've kinda been lyin' to them for like, two years?"

   "I see." Naoto wrote that down: _lying to grandparents, 2 yrs._ Interesting. "What have you been lying to them about?"

   Kanji let out a long, laboured sigh, as though just thinking about it was making him physically exhausted. He rubbed a hand over his face, bowed his head, and continued. "They're, uh... pretty traditional about some things. Think a guy ain't really a man until he settles down, has some kids, carries on the family name and the family business. They're all invested in the store." He glanced up, and again, Naoto nodded along. "They're both gettin' sick and they won't be around much longer, so I told 'em I'd been seeing this girl I was thinkin' of proposing to, but..."

   Given what she already knew of him, it only took a moment for it to click. "But there is no girl?"

   Kanji nodded. "Pretty pathetic, right?"

   Naoto hesitated a beat before she replied, non-committally, "It sounds like you're under considerable pressure."

   "Yeah." He looked down at his hands like that was an understatement. "So, the thing is... I know what a private investigator does." Almost consiprationally, Kanji leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, clasped fingers in front of him, in the space between them. "You've got dirt on everyone, right? Housewives make ya' follow their husbands around when they think they're havin' affairs, adopted kids callin' to find their birth parents... yet somehow the town doesn't hear any of it. Ya' keep quiet about stuff," he said. "Right?"

   Naoto blinked at him, before setting her pen and closed notebook down on the table. _That_  was personal. "A detective must be discreet."

   "Yeah. Discreet, that's it." Kanji nodded, as though that was exactly what he had wanted to hear. "And you're different from most people around here. Younger, my age." He paused, and Naoto had the distinct impression that there was something he wasn't saying as he looked her over, frowning in thought. "Doesn't seem like you really... judge people."

   It took Naoto several seconds to think of an honest response to that. "Not during work hours."

   "I didn't think ya' had a sense of humour." Kanji showed the tiniest smile, and Naoto did the same.

   "Again, not during work hours." She averted her eyes down, and set her notebook in her lap again. "So, without judgement; how can I help you, Tatsumi-san?"

   "I need a favour." Naoto's head snapped up, but he kept talking in a rush. "Most girls around here, they--" Helplessly, he shook his head. "If I told 'em I'd made up this story they'd know right away _why_  I was lyin' about it in the first place. It's not like I ever had a girlfriend before. And people talk, y'know?" Again, the window caught his attention, and Naoto bit the inside of her cheek because she knew how true that was. "It's not like guys just go around looking for fake girlfriends when they've got nothin' to hide. So..."

   He looked at Naoto as though expecting her to read his mind, and when she made no sign of understanding, he set one hand with the heel of it against the leather like he was about to just get up and leave. But then it clicked, and Naoto dropped her pen, and he relaxed back into the sofa again, looking a little guiltier for it.

   "So you're asking _me_  to--?" It came out shrill, and Naoto fell silent and spluttering as soon as she heard that. It was a struggle to compose herself; her mouth was open but no words were coming out, and Kanji looked... concerned, which only made the situation more embarrassing. Naoto collected her breath, bowed her head for a moment and pulled the brim of her hat down slightly to shadow her face, taking a moment before she said, with a voice that was not much steadier, "That is... not one of the services I can provide."

   Kanji held both hands up, palms out. "Look -- it doesn't have to be weird, okay? It's just pretend and it's only for two days, and I'll make it worth your while. I mean, I can't exactly pay for it since that looks like solicitation, which it _wouldn't_ be, but--"

    _Solicitiation_? Oh no, no, that was not a can of worms she was opening today--

   "Tatsumi-san!"

   "You've tried my Ma's cooking, right? You'c'n come over any time, any hour of the day and she'll make whatever! Anything! I'll even deliver it to your door, and I-- I make a pretty good mac and cheese myself, y'know, so there's that too! And I have tickets to this concert in the city next month, but you can have 'em!"

   He was gripping the sofa now, his eyes wide, literally on the edge of his seat, if that wasn't a sign of desperation...

   "You're..." Naoto said unsteadily, "planning to pay me in food and concert tickets?"

   "They have monetary value, don't they?" He sounded mildly perplexed that she would think otherwise.

   She tried not to smile. She really did. "You're _bartering_."

   "It's a small town!" Kanji said, suddenly defensive. "What, I'm the first person who ever tried to give ya' mac and cheese before?"

    _Don't laugh, do_ not _laugh_ \-- "The specific food being offered is not the unusual aspect of this proposal!"

   "Look, I'm not askin' you as a detective, okay? I'm askin' you as a neighbour." Kanji started to bounce his left leg; a tic that Naoto usually found irritating, but so much less so now, when she knew where the nerves were coming from. "As a friend, Shirogane. Please?"

   Naoto swallowed. He was giving her a look that was half-pleading, half-panic; an expression that Naoto was so susceptible to that it almost qualified as a weakness, even coming from a man who had a scar on his face and a tattoo on his arm and who was making that kicked-puppy expression in a way that seemed entirely accidental.

   "I... think I need a moment to consider this." Naoto stood, leaving her notebook behind, feeling as awkward as a fawn getting to its feet for the first time. "Please, remain here until I return."

   "'Kay." He nodded, clearly uncertain, and she didn't really trust that he would stay put, but that was a risk she would have to take.

   Within the confines of her shoebox of a private office, Naoto paced back and forth with her hands behind her back. Focusing on the floorboards, but not focusing on them at the same time.

   What would a good detective do? Holmes, Akechi, her grampa, or even Naoto herself, back when she was at the top of her game... she didn't know, and yet, there were so few options. Would it be best to go along with it? Kick him to the curb and request that he find some money and an escort rather than make such propositions in her office? Give him a brazen speech about how his grandparents would love him more if he were honest with them - a statement which may not necessarily be true?

   What would a good _friend_  do?

   Naoto cracked the door open and stepped almost out of the room; the balls of her feet stayed planted on the threshold, her hands gripping the doorframe to keep her balance as she peeked out. Expectantly, Kanji looked up, and she cleared her throat. "What would this 'fake girlfriend' ruse entail, exactly?"

   Kanji took a moment to think about it. "Meeting them, I guess? Coming over for dinner one night, or somethin'. With the family," he added, with weight, addressing the floor now, the idea was so unappealing. "Makin' up shit like how we're so crazy about spending the rest of our lives together. Maybe... holding hands a little, on top of the table so they see it, and... ugh, they'll _make_  you look at the photo albums but that's gonna be painful for both of us..."

   She didn't have to hear any more. It sounded almost too simple.

   "Alright," she agreed. "I'm in."

   "You're in?"

   She nodded, and took a few steady steps towards him. "I'm in. I will help you with your family predicament, with full discretion, in exchange for macaroni and cheese, concert tickets, and some of your mother's cooking. Is that our agreement?"

   "S-sure." Fumbling, he stood to shake her hand; he kept his distance, didn't do the lunging-forward-and-grabbing-her-other-arm motion that Naoto expected and detested from her male clients, especially ones who smiled as much as Kanji was presently. "You're seriously saving my ass right now, Shirogane."

   "Perhaps it's actually you who's saving mine," Naoto confessed, (as a neighbour, not a detective). "I've eaten instant noodles and little else for the past several days."

   "Seriously?" Kanji's handshake faltered and he let go, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing back over his shoulder at the front door. "Jesus Christ, okay. How about I take you to Aiya's to seal the deal? Ma would kill me if she knew I was lettin' you starve to death over here."

   And Naoto accepted, because she couldn't deny the truth in that.


	5. probation

   "So, what's the deal with you and the instant noodles?" Kanji asked after they'd ordered. He was still carefully eyeing the menu board on the wall, not very convincingly. Not unless he was planning on having seconds. "You seriously don't know how to cook?"

   Naoto shifted in her seat. The counter wasn't bad, exactly, close to the heat of the kitchen and all the wonderful scents that emanated from it, but having her back to the room wasn't Naoto's favourite circumstance. She sat with her back straight, arms by her sides, fingers gripping the edge of her stool. "No, I do. My grampa wouldn't let me move out until I mastered seven meals."

   If only that had been the case -- a simple inability to cook would be easily explained, and easily rectified.

   "Seven?" Kanji raised an eyebrow, and shot her a look that was nothing short of bewildered. "Is that some kinda... ritual thing?"

   Naoto shook her head. "No, it's one for every night of the week." 

   "Oh." Kanji huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, actually, that seems kinda obvious now." He cast his gaze to the menu again, putting his chin in one hand. "So, what, you're too busy or somethin'?"

   His tone wasn't derisive; apparently he could imagine her being swamped in files and reports, even with her downsizing and her monotonous stake-outs and the fact that Inaba had been building up cases, a cache of old mysteries that would soon run dry. It was really the consulting work that kept her afloat. All expenses paid, and none too common, as per her instructions. That would have to change, eventually.

   "In truth, it's not that either," Naoto admitted. "It's just that sticking to a schedule has never been one of my strong suits. My job isn't exactly nine-to-five, and with the added element of living alone..." She glanced his way and didn't find the look of empathy she'd been hoping for; only curiosity. "You've always lived with your mother, correct? I suppose it would be hard to understand."

   "Oh yeah?" Kanji stiffened, defensive at her words, though the difference in his posture was almost imperceptible. He didn't seem to move much one he was seated. It was almost as though he was made of stone; a golem, listening but unmoving. It was a mildly comforting thought. "Try me."

   The _clunk_  of their bowls being placed before them was a distraction, giving Naoto some time to think. She wasn't obligated to share anything with him, not really. He was just a client, a neighbour -- he had called them friends, and he was buying her a meal, but if there was any friendship here then it was budding at best.

   And yet, the investigation had drawn her into view of parts of Kanji's life that she should never have seen before he had told her -- and even then, he hadn't delved into the entirety of it, not that she would expect him to share _every_  detail of his private endeavours.

   There was mirrored glass between them, now, and it was only fair that Naoto show some transparency.

   It was even possible that talking could help, in some way. That was what her grampa had told her, right before her move from the city, that talking helped, and yet among a population of thirteen million there was no-one to listen, and now...

   Warily, Naoto looked around. Nobody was paying any particular attention to them except for a toddler at a nearby table, though she couldn't shake that prickly feeling on the back of her neck. "I find that life is much easier when there is only one task to be completed," she began, unable to hide the trace of uncertainty that seeped into her voice. She was speaking quietly -- couldn't help speaking quietly -- but Kanji just kept eating, listening so passively that it was as though Naoto was discussing the weather. "Work is... a single goal. Finding the culprit. There are several phases in this task, but it's a relatively straightforward process." She took in a deep breath, which earned her an expectant side-on glance. "... _Life_ , on the other hand..."

   "Not so straightforward," Kanji agreed between mouthfuls. "Yeah?"

   "Yes. On a daily basis, there are tasks that must be completed but no end result. It's chaotic. And without anyone else relying on the completion of these tasks, or any third party overseeing that they are done, they become... well, not meaningless, but..."

   She poked at her meal, letting the silence linger for a moment, but she couldn't find the words. The pause was expectant, and so she continued:

   "And some people simply... fall out of order." Naoto swallowed, the admission leaving her throat a little raw in its wake. Kanji didn't seem to have noticed. "For example, they might leave the grocery shopping until the last minute because they don't have anyone else to feed but themselves, and then find that they're too hungry to safely leave the house. Or, they might find it difficult to see any point in home-cooked, warm meals when the stomach really doesn't know the difference between those and instant ones, and therefore have little motivation to maintain a healthy diet and regular meal schedule. They might work all night and forget to sleep." _They might take extensive notes and not realise until after the fact that they have managed to fill half a book and several loose sheaves--_  Naoto held that one back. It was too... much. Kanji didn't need to know everything, though he seemed to have achieved a sort of quiet understanding by now. "Does that make sense?" she prompted when he didn't say anything.

   He nodded. "Sounds rough. For those people," he added, a bit hastily.

   "I think so too."

   Naoto's bowl had stopped steaming, and she began to eat. The silence that fell had just a trace of discomfort to it, and Naoto wished she had more to say. All she could think, in the moment, was that she was more grateful for Kanji's payment method than she would have liked to admit. Or rather, more than she would have liked to have  _already admitted._

   "Ever think about gettin' a pet?"

   The question came as a surprise, and Naoto contemplated the countertop for a long moment before she answered it. "Sometimes. Not seriously," she added. "Apparently there are plenty of stray cats around here, though."

   Kanji dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Oh, yeah, but there's a guy."

   "There's a 'guy'?" Naoto looked up sharply, and narrowed her eyes at him. "What does that mean?"

   "There's a guy who's been lookin' out for 'em since the shelter closed. He lives like..." Kanji gestured vaguely behind him, towards the south end of the shopping district, though Naoto assumed the distance would be farther than that. "Surprised you haven't heard of him." At Naoto's lack of comprehension, Kanji snorted. "He shacked up with the Junes manager's son about two years ago, and people are _still_  talkin' about it. You'd think they'd get over stuff like that, but..."

   Something in that statement caught Naoto's attention. "That was two years ago?"

   Kanji gave her a meaningful look. "Around the time I met my girlfriend."

   "Oh, I see." Naoto gave that statement the moment of pause it deserved. "To be honest, it's a bit hard to keep track of the gossip. I did hear something about the inn closing down..."

   "That one goes around every six months."

   Naoto shook her head in wonder. "That is absurd."

   "Yeah," Kanji agreed, and then hesitated. "Guess we're not really any better, though. I mean, we're talkin' about it now."

   "That is true," Naoto said, a little guiltily. The eagerness among the housewives to share their rumours did make her life easier when she was questioning them, looking for information, but to be on the other end of it... well, Kanji would know about that. "I wonder what people might say about us if they see us eating together," she mused.

   "Probably not as much as they said about them." Naoto wasn't sure about that; they must have made quite a picture, sitting side-by-side as they were, and Kanji wasn't the first person in Naoto's life to mistake her for a man, though her summer clothes made it much more obvious that she was not. She opted to let it slide, and Kanji was the one to fill the lull in the conversation yet again. "So, a cat's totally outta the question? I hear they paw at your face 'til you feed 'em. Like an alarm you can't turn off."

   "Ah, but the fur gets everywhere..." Naoto almost cringed at the thought. There was no way she'd be able to protect her wardrobe, and a cat who liked to chew paper would have a field day in her office.

   "Good point." Kanji chewed thoughtfully on a piece of pork. "Could be good for business, though. Like that Tama, remember?"

   "I... Actually, yes. I do remember." Kanji had made it sound like it was something anyone would remember. Naoto huffed out a sigh she didn't really mean. "...You aren't in a gang at all, are you, Tatsumi-san."

   It wasn't a question; he looked a shade away from anger until he caught her eye, saw the bemusement that Naoto couldn't hide and seemed to realise that. He only gave her an incredulous look before returning to his meal. "You should probably call me Kanji," he said, as an afterthought. "We'd better get used to it, right?"

   "Right. Of course." Naoto sat up even straighter in her seat. "In that case, please call me Naoto."

   "Naoto," Kanji repeated. It made him break out in a tiny smile, which he then covered with the heel of one hand, digging his fingers against his cheek. At least he didn't blush. If he had, Naoto wouldn't have been able to stop herself showing the same level of... whatever it was. Amusement? Embarrassment? Some kind of combination of the two, probably. "Man, I know I'm the one who suggested it, but this feels really weird."

   "I know." Naoto took a deep breath, then cleared her throat. "I know, Kanji... dear."

   Kanji's one sharp, disbelieving exhale that verged on actual laughter was all Naoto needed to inform her that she was, as expected, not quite smooth enough to pull that off. Immediately she looked straight down at her bowl, pretended to be very interested in a piece of chicken floating in the broth.

   He coughed, perhaps feeling guilty. "Maybe don't... say _that_  just..."

   "No, I apologize." Naoto prodded at the chicken with a chopstick, pushing it to the bottom, letting it rise again. Then she realised that she should finish her food, not play with it; it was Kanji's treat, after all, and the first real, hot meal she'd eaten in over a week. "I really should have told you before that I don't have much in the way of dating experience."

   "Nah, doesn't matter." Kanji shrugged. "When it comes down to it, it'll look like we're just nervous because you're meeting the family. Which is normal, right?"

   "We should be able to pass it off as such," Naoto confirmed. "It's strange, actually. I usually dedicate my time to finding out the truth, and now I'm in the business of constructing lies." Already, she was entertaining some ideas about how the whole thing was going to play out, how they would prepare, the amount of time she and Kanji would have to spend together, acclimating so that they didn't look like strangers to each other when the time came. She shook her head. "...I shouldn't be so excited to begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tama](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tama_\(cat\)) was a famous cat who became the station master at kishi station in japan.


	6. polygraph

  
   Naoto had been pacing for the last ten minutes, double- and triple-checking that the curtains were drawn and the cupboards all closed, toilet seat down, shower curtain pulled, gas cooker switched off, heating set to a comfortable level to combat the chill that crept in through the cracked and fragile windowpanes even on summer nights. The place had already been cleaned from top to bottom, and the fridge stocked. She'd bought four different types of tea and eight different sodas, and that was _after_ staring blankly at Junes' selection of alcoholic beverages for ten minutes before leaving it empty handed and hoping Kanji wouldn't ask.

   She had never had guests here before, and rarely had guests at her previous apartment, and she was beginning to remember why that was.

   She twitched the curtains every so often, until she heard the rattle of a back door from the kitchen window, the unmistakable voice of Kanji calling something to his mother, and the thud of it closing again. Naoto left the curtain alone and hurried downstairs to her own back door; then reconsidered, and headed to the front door instead. She opened it just in time to find Kanji standing there, his usual torn-jeans-and-back-t-shirt ensemble accompanied by a worn leather jacket, looking sheepish with a massive, cerulean clay casserole dish in his hands.

   "Samples," he said by way of an explanation, handing over the dish as he stepped inside; he didn't notice Naoto staggering under the unexpected weight of it. "Figured ya' hadn't eaten yet."

   She attempted to close the door with her hip as Kanji wandered through towards the office, then stopped in the doorway when he realised she wasn't following behind him. His eyes widened slightly, and then he came back, muttering an apology as he crossed the main floor in a matter of steps. He reached down to draw the chain across and turn the key for her with a guilty smile.

   He hadn't noticed the other lock at the bottom of the door, the one Naoto had purchased from Diadara and installed herself because there were some habits that the Inaba Naoto would never shake, but Kanji didn't have to know that, she decided, and she settled for a terse nod. "You were right." She held the dish by the handles, but she could still feel the heat radiating from the belly of it. "I have things set up upstairs, if you'd like to follow me?"

   Kanji did, with his hands in his pockets.

  
~*~

  
   "You made charts?" Kanji asked, clearly making no effort to keep the incredulity out of his tone. His voice was just dripping with it, Naoto thought, as he learned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out under the table and examining the sheet of paper Naoto had given him a moment before. "Like, actual charts?"

   "Yes." On top of the dining table, Naoto had laid out several pieces of paper, and she spread them further out to make sure that Kanji could clearly see all of them. "As you can see," she explained as she gestured to the one closest to her, "I have printed out a blank timeline for both of us. I thought we could fill them out together, to go over the intricacies of our childhoods and better commit them to memory, while each retaining a written report to study in our downtime." Which were what the rest of the papers were for, each labelled with a header of a key point of their lives; parents, grandparents, childhood friends, current friends, education, past employment... Kanji looked bewildered by the sheer number of them, each with space underneath to write a small essay on the topic, and Naoto pressed her lips into a hard line. "We have to be thorough if we want to be convincing."

   "Last time I checked, people who are actually dating don't do shit like this."

   "People who are actually dating don't have to cram a two-year relationship into two weeks."

   "Good point." Kanji nodded, oddly sagely. "Still, this is like..." he shuffled to the last page, a simple form requesting the names of all known family members and their relation to each other, as well as details on household traditions and towns of both current residence and origin. "Ya' want _grandparents'_  names? All four of 'em? I know you pretty much have ta' know mine, but I'm never gonna remember that. And all this stuff about our parents..." Kanji put down his own forms, and separated one of the sheets on the table from the others with a fingertip, and Naoto cringed when she saw it. Maybe it had been a _little_  over the top to print off her entire family tree, but... "No offense, but wouldn't it be easier if we just pretended yours are dead or somethin'?"

   "They are."

   "Well, shit," Kanji said, flatly. "I didn't mean--"

   "It's alright." Naoto raised a hand to cut off his apology. There was no way he could have known, after all; he hadn't yet looked closely enough at the family tree to notice that her parents' names were written in a shade of grey, paler than the script of her own name, and matching that of her other deceased relatives. "It does indeed make it easier for you, as you could never have met them and would not reasonably know any personal details." Kanji shifted in his seat, looking somehow even more uncomfortable than before; as though he was expecting her to burst into tears at any moment, unnerved by her calm, imagining it to be a sign of an approaching storm.

   Naoto tried to smile. _Tried_  being the operative word. Kanji knit his brows together, evidently only more concerned.

   Naoto cleared her throat, and continued, without making eye contact, "My only close relative is my grandfather. As you have your parents and at least two grandparents, I can assure you that your writing on the subject will be much more extensive than my own."

   Silence fell, and Kanji's hand twitched where it was laying on top of the table. For one long and strange moment, Naoto expected him to reach over and take her own, and quietly hoped he'd spare her that awkwardness. She let out a tiny sigh of relief when he picked up one of the pens Naoto had provided, and began to fill in his timeline.

   Wordlessly, Naoto did the same. The light scratching of their handwriting, in tandem, filled the room.

   Naoto only got as far as noting down her date of birth at the far end of the line, (and her time of birth, and her hospital of birth), before Kanji piped up, "So... How old were ya'?"

   "Four." As she spoke, Naoto began to mark a line a few inches to the right, going over it again and again, layering the ink to make it thicker. "It was a car accident."

   "Oh." He cleared his throat. "My dad died in an accident too."

   "I... had assumed your parents were divorced." Naoto blinked down at her papers, trying not to let the surprise show on her face. Jumping to conclusions like that, she was losing her touch. She swallowed, and looked up to find Kanji remarkably calm, resting his chin in one hand and doodling at the corner of the page. "You have my condolences."

   "Yeah, you too." Kanji sounded like he meant it. "We better write this stuff down while it's fresh in our minds, huh?"

   "Yes, I agree." Naoto glanced over to Kanji's page again. The marker on his timeline was considerably further to the right than her own, almost at the halfway point. She cleared her throat, setting down her pen after writing down in her usual block script, _1999 | aged 4: parents deceased_. "How old were you, when your father passed away?"

   Kanji was still writing, distracted when he answered, "Nine."

   "I see... then you must be close to your mother?"

   Naoto said it for no reason other than because it was something to say. Of course Kanji was close to his mother. It wouldn't take a detective to figure that one out; she could tell not only by the way they talked to each other, but by the way Kanji seemed so conscious of his own reputation, because it was also the reputation of his mother and the _family_  and the  _business_  and any public slip-ups could result in an impact still felt years later, in the margins of accounting books and in curious stares in the street.

   From time to time, the same curiosity reminded her of the camera crews that once followed her to crime scenes and back. The roar of questions about her personal life, the cause of death, her grandfather, the suspect and the possibility of a serial case, all indistinguishable from one other as she ducked her head and tried to look like she had somewhere important to be, (which she usually did), as she passed them by.

   For Kanji this existed on a smaller scale, (though, the nicknames they came up with her were more on the flattering side than what Kanji was likely used to), and yet was no less significant, Naoto was sure.

   Everything in Inaba seemed to simply exist on a smaller scale. A foggy little microcosm.

   Kanji snorted. "I better be. She dealt with all my teenage shit by herself and didn't kick me out. I owe her."

   "Ah. You had some teenage--" Naoto began, and then she hesitated for a beat, biting the inside of her cheek when she almost instinctively repeated his word choice verbatim, "...problems?"

   Kanji responded by looking at her as though he had seen right through a lie she didn't even know she had told. "You sayin' you _didn't_ have any teenage problems?"

   "Naturally, I had some obstacles," Naoto admitted, the picture of nonchalance, (she corrected her posture and perfectly schooled her tone to make sure of it), "but not ones your grandparents are likely to mention."

   "Oh, yeah? Makes sense." He nodded, though somewhat tersely. "Guess we can't all be as lucky as that."

   "What do you mean?" Naoto asked, though she had a feeling she already knew what he meant.

   Kanji's pen moved in harsh strokes across the page. "'s just how it is. You grow up working in a textile store, learning to sew and everything, people just _assume_ , start rumours, y'know..." And Naoto hummed in agreement, and silently wondered, did everything in this town come back to that? "And then as soon as you're old enough to get what they're really sayin' about you, you only get a year, a year and a half to be defensive about it before you realise they were right and you were just makin' it obvious.

   "So you decide to quit bein' a walking stereotype, and people just start new rumours." Kanji rolled his eyes, sighing heavily as he continued, " _One_ underage tattoo and suddenly they wanted my Ma down at the station every other day over some gang incident I didn't even know about."

   Naoto nodded her understanding. "People thought you were a troublemaker, of sorts."

   "Still do." Kanji shrugged. "I guess it kinda throws them off the real secret, so it's not all bad, but it's like livin' in a time capsule. People never get over anything. My grandparents didn't even live here but they still know about all that crap, but who knows? You bein' a cop and all might make them shut up about it for once."

   "I'm sure it will." She gestured to the pen in his unmoving hand. "I hope you're writing this down."

   Kanji raised an eyebrow. "You're not gonna remember it?"

   "I will, but it's a vital part of a bigger picture." She gave a small smile. More of a twitch at the corner of her mouth, really, but it was something. "The timeline of Kanji Tatsumi; my homework."

   "Yeah, yeah." Kanji waved it off. "So what should I know about your childhood?"

   "A brief overview? After my parents' death, it was uneventful. My grandfather looked after me in his home, and I believe I spent most of my time reading and playing, as many children do."

   "Readin' what?"

   "...Everything," Naoto replied, after a moment of thought. She was just glad Kanji had gone down that path instead of the other. In a conversation like this, she'd have no choice to explain to him about playing detective as a child, with her gadgets made of wire and tinfoil. "Mostly detective novels, as there was quite a collection in my home already, of course. I first started working as a consulting detective when I was thirteen--"

   " _Thirteen?"_

   "My grandfather always encouraged me to be ahead of my peers."

   "Yeah, but _thirteen_? Who hires a thirteen year old to solve murders?"

   "If that thirteen year old is a Shirogane? You would be surprised. It wasn't just murder cases, either." Naoto moved swiftly on from that before Kanji could ask anymore (wholly unnecessary, really) questions. "So, I balanced work with school, and then college, and I acquired a degree in Criminology from Okina University last year, graduating at the top of my class."

   "We get it, you were a prodigy." Kanji rested his chin in his hand. He didn't look up from his paper, but regardless, Naoto had the feeling that she was under a microscope. "So, what? You got a degree in Criminology and came to a little nowhere town to find people's lost cats?"

   Naoto tried -- and completely failed -- not to flinch. "I..." she tilted her chin up, but Kanji had noticed her falter, she could tell. "Yes, that's right."

   Kanji's eye contact seemed to pierce right through her. "'kay, so... It's none of my business, and I get that, but you know my grandparents are gonna ask why the hell you'd come _here_  from the city with a shiny new degree, right?"

   Naoto took in a deep breath. "Then perhaps we will tell your grandparents that I wanted to enjoy small town life and stayed because I met my wonderful paramour and couldn't bear to leave him."

   Kanji nodded, and wrote it down. "Good thinkin'."

   "Wait." Naoto reached out and touched his wrist, stopping him. "I can't believe I didn't notice until now, but... if we claim to have been together for longer than I've lived here..." _then the whole ruse will crumble_ , Naoto thought, but just the idea of saying it aloud was already giving her the traces of a headache. She was glad Kanji had brought mac and cheese, _comfort_ , she would need it, lying was such hard work--

   But Kanji only shrugged. "My grandparents don't know that. Doubt anyone's gonna tell 'em."

   "Your mother might."

   "You serious?" he laughed -- actually laughed, though Naoto couldn't imagine why. "This whole thing was my Ma's idea in the first place."

   "Oh." Naoto blinked. "I didn't know she was aware of the situation."

   "She ain't. Or... it's hard to tell. When she suggested it she was givin' it all, _they just wanna see you get married!_ without mentioning why that wasn't gonna happen, so, y'know. She _coulda_  figured it out, but if it's okay with you, I'm gonna assume she didn't."

   "So your mother is the true puppetmaster," Naoto pointed out with a wry smile she couldn't hold back. Now that Kanji had said it, she could see that in his mother indeed. She had, after all, held down a household and a business and raised a child without a husband for all these years; a woman like that had to have a knack for holding things together. Including, apparently, the morale at extended family gatherings.

   "Honestly, I think she had you in mind from the start."

   And there Naoto thought Mrs. Tatsumi was just committed to feeding her neighbours. "Would that be because I'm a 'cop'?"

   "Huh. Well, let's see." Kanji began to count the points off on his fingers. "You're pretty," he said, watching her carefully for a reaction, which Naoto in return carefully didn't give, "you're the girl next door, _and_  you're the only cop in town who hasn't tried to arrest me yet. Pretty strong candidate for fake girlfriend of the year, right?"

   "Technically, I can't arrest anyone," Naoto pointed out. "And I think you're the first man who's ever described me as 'pretty'."

   A little self-consciously, and only for a second, Kanji smiled. "Guess it doesn't mean much coming from a guy like me."

   "No, it does," Naoto curtly corrected him. "I would argue that you have little incentive to compliment me." She hesitated, and then shook her head. "But you and I should stop that mindset in its tracks if we are to be convincing. We are a couple. You would have come to my graduation ceremony -- what year was it?"

   "Last year, 2016, degree in criminology, top of your class. Probably gave a tacky speech or somethin'," he added, with a teasing smile that showed some of his teeth.

   "It was quite tacky," Naoto admitted, filling that particular detail in on her timeline as well. Under graduation, _tacky speech_ \-- then she she crossed it out and replaced it with, _tackiest speech_. It was, after all, an important detail.

   She sat back, and all of a sudden it struck her how very small her life looked on paper.

 _A brief overview_ , yes. And of course, it was inevitable, the timeline was printed on a piece of A4 landscape and naturally could not possibly exceed this physical size; Naoto tried to rationalize it to herself, but the reality of the situation was that her life looked small because there were only a handful of markers on her completed timeline, and few of them were even unique.

   Slightly shakily, she made an addition to her page; a line, a few inches beneath the timeline itself, connecting _began career_  to... and then she hesitated, her pen hovering over paper for a moment before she settled for the part of the line marked as _now_. In writing much larger than usual, she labelled this segment as _WORK_.

   And she wondered at that; the fact that _WORK_ could have, if she let it, trail off to the edge of the page, across the table top, past the present and infinitely onwards. There had always been work. There would always be work. And _WORK_  encapsulated so many of the elements of her life that were rarely ever seen by anyone but herself. It filled every gap.

   It _was_  every gap.

   Such as her note-taking habit, withering now that the time she once spent journalling was being replaced by dedicating herself to cases that required field work rather than careful analysis, working with the local police department, and exchanging emails with her new contact about the local cat situation. Likewise, her eagerness -- and constant availability -- to travel out of town for consulting jobs had dropped off. They no longer called her every Sunday. She imagined her name being crossed off an imaginary list for which the header was _Pathetic_.

   Yet, what had withered the most was her sense of self-importance about the whole thing. The last thing Naoto would say was that catching dangerous criminals was unimportant, and it was clearly undeniable that she was quite good at it, but the difference was that in the majority of cases, it would be done with or without her, eventually. Granted, there were only a few Shiroganes in the world, but there were hundreds of good detectives. Hundreds of hours of experience, hundreds of offices made a second home, hundreds of sleepless nights.

   But this? 

   This was different.

   In the city, Naoto's every day had revolved around interviews, paperwork, protocol, and the occasional high-speed car chase, all for the momentary triumph of carting one handcuffed offender or another off to a loophole-ridden legal system that may or may not deliver her opinion of an adequate punishment, (or even find the defendant guilty of anything at all); followed by a restless sleep and a cup of stale coffee before she went to repeat the cycle once again.

   And for Naoto, that was alright, because it was a job.

   But it wasn't a life.

   "You okay, Sh-- Naoto?" Kanji asked, eyeing her in that way that had initially looked all wrong on a person like him; cautious and curious, worried and yet unwilling to push the matter. Naoto had no idea if she looked upset, or distressed, or if she had simply been staring blankly at her piece of paper for far long than was appropriate, but that was unimportant, because she opened her mouth to give an answer that died immediately in her throat as soon as she felt it there.

   How many times had she brushed off that exact question? Always irrelevant, or offensive, calling into question her very nature, even, because Naoto had always been known to do what she had to do regardless of her personal feelings, _WORK_  did not have time for these discussions, any of these discussions...

   It wasn't a life.

 _This_  was a life.

   And this was what she had come to Inaba to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made up some stuff about naoto and kanji's families, so if any of it conflicts with established canon then please excuse my ignorance.


	7. lineup

   Her first mistake had been going home without trying the dress on, for no reason other than because she had the distinct feeling that between the rack and the changing room, someone was going to see her with it and laugh.

   Or perhaps it would even be her who laughed, at the sheer juxtaposition, when she had to see herself holding it: a prim little sundress made for someone else, though it was that shade of blue that Naoto had always had a fondness for. The fabric, though, was light, delicate, designed for women who didn't keep a spread of men's fashion magazines on their coffee table, (and what made it _men's_  fashion anyway, when Naoto could look just as good after a visit to the family's most trusted tailor?), and who didn't keep their head bowed in sheer embarrassment as they paid for it, wishing they were anywhere else in the world.

   And now, here she stood. Rumpled and hopeless in front of her bedroom mirror, a grown adult with no idea how to even _dress herself_ \--

   No, Naoto wasn't going to let herself think that way. It was just a streak of mistakes that she had made, all of them now in plain sight.

   She had left this endeavour far too late, for one. It hadn't occurred to her that finding something to wear would be so difficult. In a way, she had assumed this would be something Kanji would have some kind of preference or instruction about; though in hindsight, Naoto realised it was unlikely that Kanji had put a great deal of thought into what he'd like his girlfriend to wear to meet his grandparents, if that was a situation that he'd ever imagined at all until recently, considering having a girlfriend in the first place was, for him, less than ideal. But then, when Kanji failed to mention her appearance at all in the run-up to the big event, Naoto had decided that she would just drive into town and find something on her own.

   And then she had walked into that first store, and immediately wished she had never left the house.

   Considering that it was now officially summer, the boutique wasn't free of teenagers in the least. And as teenagers tended to do, they stared. Naoto had moved uncertainly through the racks of clothing, unable to shake the feeling of eyes on her wherever she went. And it wasn't that Naoto really minded being stared at, when she was doing something she was reasonably competent at; such as picking her way through a crime scene, navigating city streets, interacting with other people in a professional context. But this time, she had had no idea what she was doing and no way of making that less obvious to any bystanders.

   Even though she couldn't have been a decade older than any of them, in the moment she felt about as old as Kanji's grandparents -- who, she had been informed by the charts he'd filled out, were _incredibly_  old -- and yet somehow the fact that she had, despite her age, become no wiser to the ways of buying clothes for the purpose of looking nice for others rather than being comfortable in herself, felt in that moment like a very tragic thing.

   It turned out that in the end, coming home hadn't solved anything.

   Despite having showered, she looked less presentable now than she did before. Her calves were marred with nicks and cuts, a few smears of blood still visible because she hadn't shaved in quite a while and apparently wasn't very good at it. That shower had been among the worst her her life. The _contortion_  that was involved, and the way she went over the same spots repeatedly, concerned about stray lines of untouched hairs. And even after all of that -- or, more likely, _because_  of all that -- the harsh scrape of the razor had left her skin irritated and reddened. Even as she stood in front of the mirror she kept shifting, almost involuntarily, seeking relief for the vague and markedly unattractive itch that had settled in the moment she'd left the bathroom.

   The dress itself was appealing in a way, navy blue- and white-striped and summery and down to just above her knees, but it lay all wrong on her body. The neckline dipped too far and the spaghetti straps sat akimbo, refusing to cover the straps of her bra no matter how many times she adjusted them. The baggy torso hid all evidence that she had any sort of waistline underneath it, pushed out by her chest as it was. Every time she turned to examine herself from the side, she told herself it wasn't as bad as she thought; only to find that no, her memory hadn't failed her, and somehow every fresh glance humiliated her more than the last.

   She was also realising, far too late, that she didn't own any shoes that matched her outfit; the closest she had was a pair of white tennis shoes, ones she only ever wore during long walks when she couldn't trust a nicer pair not to give her blisters. Could she go out to dinner in tennis shoes? People in Inaba weren't as fashion-concious as those in the city, but Naoto had a feeling that that would definitely be crossing a line.

   Even with all of that combined, it was hard to tell what was worse: her appearance itself or the demeanour that matched it. The way she couldn't help but hug herself to combat the strange exposure that the outfit offered, and the way she instinctively kept her legs clamped together because she felt oddly naked below the waist.

   She would never let herself be caught dead looking like this. As it was, she struggled to even meet her own eyes in the mirror.

   She needed help.

   And it was at times like these that Naoto wished she had more than two personal contacts in her phone.

  
~*~

   
   "What do you want me to wear?"

   There was a long, drawn-out silence that left Naoto in a minor panic that she may, distracted by her altogether dour mood, have called the wrong number, and could be interrogating a complete stranger. But when Kanji finally replied, his voice was unmistakable and sounded just as uncertain as she felt. "...Naoto?"

   She wasn't sure how to respond to that with anything other than, "Yes."

   "I don't really..." Kanji trailed off, struggling, and tone gave the impression that this was a question he had never expected to be asked in his life. "Honestly? I don't give a damn what ya' wear as long as ya' show up."

   "I'm sure you don't," Naoto agreed, "but what about your family? What do you think they would like to..." She didn't exactly like the way the words felt in her mouth, but she eventually settled on, "...see me in?"

   "Ugh." Apparently Kanji didn't like them either, and that was a small comfort. "I don't know. Screw it. Wear your favourite outfit."

   "I don't have an appropriate favourite outfit."

   "Liar. _Everyone_  has a favourite outfit."

   "Even you?"

   "Yeah, even me." 

   "Will you be wearing it tomorrow?"

   "Fuck no!" he blurted out. It won a small, smug smile from Naoto. His reaction to whatever image that conjured in his mind must have been comparable to how she felt about making a first impression in her suspenders and dress shoes, spoiling her good-girl-next-door image and perhaps earning more than one sour look from Kanji's oh-so-traditional grandparents; he seemed to understand this. "Oh. Yeah, okay, that's a point. Maybe don't wear your favourite, then."

   "And so we're back to square one." Naoto sat down heavily on her bed. She could still see a glimpse of one bald leg in the mirror, and noticed that she had indeed missed a spot, down by her ankle. In defeat, she hung her head, and closed her eyes. "I really don't know anything about this."

   Kanji snorted. "Ya' say that like _I_  know somethin' about this."

   "What will you be wearing?"

   "Pants and a shirt."

   "Kanji..."

   "Like..." Naoto heard a faint, metallic rattle in the background; it sounded like coathangers on a rail. "Dark wash jeans and a white dress shirt. It's just a family dinner."

   "I'm not used to family dinners." Naoto finally opened her eyes, and immediately regretted it. Sitting down caused the front of her dress to sag horrifically, in a way that could get her in trouble for indecent exposure. She fought the urge to rip it off immediately and crawl under her covers to hide from her own gaze. "Why did you ask _me_  to do this, of all people? No matter what I wear, I'll look out of place."

   "Ya' always look nice at work," Kanji offered.

   "But those are my regular clothes. Shouldn't I be dressing up?"

   Naoto wasn't usually one to pass up an opportunity to dress up. She glanced towards her wardrobe, thinking of those stunning white linen trousers she hadn't yet dared to expose to muddy Inaba, the cranberry-red bow tie that barely matched any of her other clothes but did a flawless job of diverting gazes from her chest... but she was playing a part now, a part where dressing up meant painful footwear and cheeky necklines and _god_ , she hadn't even _considered_  make-up...  
  
   "For someone who doesn't know about this kinda thing, ya' sure have some big opinions about it." Kanji huffed on the other end of the line. "Relax. My grandparents aren't gonna suspect anythin' just because you're a girl who wears pants. It's actually a pretty normal thing these days."

   "Perhaps you're right." Naoto sighed. "It's your choice. Though, for what it's worth, I would not recommend requesting that I wear a dress," she added. This nightmare wrapped up in blue fabric was going straight back to the store for a refund.

  
~*~

   
   Compromise was a beautiful word, Naoto thought.

   On the evening of the visit, she answered the door to Kanji in a those linen trousers and a blouse she'd found in the back of her closet, soft blue with a delicate neckline. Without her hat, she would draw no attention. They even sort of matched.

   "See?" he said. "Total girlfriend material." He hesitated, looking as awkward on her doorstep as he had the very first time she met him. "Not... that ya' weren't girlfriend material before, I just mean, in terms of my grandparents--"

   Naoto snorted. "Thank you."

   He held his arm out to her, but she reached for his hand instead. It felt massive compared to her own, though his fingers were smooth while hers were calloused; she suspected hand cream. They walked to his house like that. What would the neighbours say, Naoto wondered? Should she hold their joined hands higher, to shield Kanji from their critical gaze for just a little while longer?

   It was something else, to think that it was his hands that were accustomed to weaving needle and thread, while hers had kissed the finger of her favourite pistol on many occasions. It felt like a great secret. Like they were two leads in a school play. For the next few days, who they actually were didn't matter -- it was just a role, an act. A trick.

   Mrs Tatsumi was waiting for them at Kanji's back door. looked Naoto over, and then Kanji, and then her gaze dropped down to where their sweaty palms were pressed together, fingers entwined. Naoto did her best to smile, and Mrs. Tatsumi smiled back and said, "Perfect."

   Naoto and Kanji exchanged a look, and then stepped over the threshold.


	8. epilogue

   "Alright?" Kanji asked for the hundredth time that evening, back over his shoulder as he led Naoto down the stairs to the sunken area overlooked by the stage. The venue wasn't too big as to be overwhelming, or too small as to be cozy; it boasted a bar they both had stamps for, and a couple of balconies above, and behemoth speakers larger than Naoto could imagine was truly necessary, but nothing that made her feel less than alright, and so she replied with a swift affirmative.

   Still, his consideration was undeniably a comfort. Naoto had never heard of this band or been to a concert before in her life. It only made sense for her to bring Kanji along; while those tickets had certainly had monetary value, it seemed to her that the value she gave them increased exponentially when she considered enjoying the show with the person who had actually purchased the tickets of his own volition in the first place.

   As they descended into the crowd, she could tell that it wouldn't be long before it became humid from the crowd, the floor sticky with beer spilled from flimsy plastic cups. Kanji was easily the tallest person in the room, which left them with a predicament. "You'll see better from the back anyway," he assured her as he led here there, "if you don't mind."

   Which earned him a short laugh, because the idea of Naoto minding _not_  having a crowd of complete strangers behind her as well as on all other sides of her was truly laughable in her opinion. In fact, Naoto hadn't been packed in with so many towering, sweaty bodies since... the subway at rush hour, she realised with vague unease. Those trips had been ten minutes at the most, yet the two of them would be standing here for, Kanji had told her earlier, around three hours.

   People on the subway tended to dress better, too. Kanji's explanation had been very unclear; to dress for a desert heatwave, (comfortable and loose and light), but also with considerable effort, because crammed into a small space with hundreds of people you never knew whose eye you could catch. Naoto had taken his advice to the best of her ability, but the majority of the people around them had turned up in jeans and t-shirts and it left her feeling severely overdressed in her shorts-and-stockings ensemble, which she had to admit was now far more eye-catching than she had initially intended.

   Still, when the lights went down it didn't matter. Nobody was paying them any attention, and that suited Naoto just fine. Kanji seemed incredibly relaxed, using the half-wall behind him for support as he leaned back against it, watching the stage with interest but nothing that particularly resembled excitement as the opening act made their way under the bright lights. Naoto tried to mimic this attitude as well, but 'relaxed' was never a demeanour she'd managed to pull off convincingly.

   The singer reached the microphone, and introduced himself too quickly for Naoto to catch the name of this band over the static. The speakers blared so loudly, so ground-shakingly, and when Kanji heard this, he winced.

   "Shit," Kanji said, reaching into his pocket. "I forgot, you'll need these." He produced earbuds; Naoto had never seen this kind before, but she recognised them as being meant for insulation and protection. She felt herself flush in the darkness, and prayed that it wasn't noticeable.

   "Ready?" Kanji asked her.

   Naoto imagined the old Naoto -- the Okina Naoto -- cringing, claustrophobic, self-conscious. The Okina Naoto was too good for a place like this. The Okina Naoto never felt quite right around anyone who was having too much fun.

   Her heart was beating fast, but in a way that felt incredibly good. She smiled up at him, and said, "Ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> believe in yourself and you, too, can finally finish the fic that's been hanging out 97% finished in your docs for almost a year.
> 
> this story meant a lot to me, and i can't thank you guys enough for the support. until next time... <3!


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